


let your walls cave in

by ghostfaeries



Series: Neurodivergent Bats [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Tim Drake, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Batdad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne-centric, Cuddling & Snuggling, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Tim Drake, Platonic Cuddling, Stim Toys, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Where is the damn tag ao3!!!, Wheres the tag for that ao3 🔪
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfaeries/pseuds/ghostfaeries
Summary: A knock on the door. Tim let out a noise. The door opened. Bruce.“Are you ready?” Bruce asked.Tim burst into tears.~Tim stumbles. Tim falls. Bruce catches him.
Relationships: Jack Drake & Janet Drake & Tim Drake, No Romantic Relationship(s), Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Neurodivergent Bats [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110959
Comments: 18
Kudos: 317





	let your walls cave in

**Author's Note:**

> im baaaaaack!! im so glad to get to post a fic again, its been too long. im incredibly busy with school so i havent had much time to write unfortunately, though i have been working on multiple wips (if anyone reading this is subscribed to tales of beasts and beings.... honey youve got a big storm coming)  
> this fic is complete projection, as always 😌
> 
> If there are any mistakes, whoops my bad, English is not my first lang, sometimes stuff slips through ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Title derived from a slightly modified line from Heart by Sleeping At Last, which is just the best music to get fic titles from
> 
> also if you ship any of the batkids (Duke, Dick, Cass, Tim, Jason, Damian) with one another or with Bruce, this is not for you, get out. dont interact with me.
> 
> Warnings: ableism, ignoring/dismissal of disability, Tim has a meltdown and hits himself a few times, but is quickly stopped

He was tired. 

He’d told Mom so earlier. 

“Don’t be silly, Timothy. It’s just a gala, you’ll be fine. Get over yourself. We do things for you all the time, you can do this for us.” Mom fixed his tie and patted his shoulder. “Don’t loosen your tie again, it’s improper.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

And that had been that. 

Mom and Dad had flanked him to the car. Tim thought it was kind of silly, it was barely a five-minute drive to Wayne Manor, but he supposed his parents didn’t want to dirty their shoes walking. On the other hand, he was also kind of glad for it, he didn’t think he had the energy for a hike like that. 

They arrived at Wayne Manor and Dad ushered him out of the car when Tim took too long to get out. Usually, he’d be ecstatic to go to the Waynes, but today, he was tired. 

He didn’t really know why. It had been a regular day. He hadn’t even had a nightmare last night. He’d woken up at the normal time and gone to school, his classmates loud as ever. His parents had picked him up for once. That had been a good thing. Instead of going to his room, he'd talked to them until it was time for dinner. After that, they had gotten ready for the gala. 

Nothing had happened. Then why was he so tired? 

Tim and his parents walked through the front door. A wall of noise hit him, a cacophony of voices and laughter and cutlery tinkling against plates. Tim flinched for a moment, before straightening out his posture again, chin held high. He was fine. He could do this. 

He trailed after his parents for a while as they fluttered from business partner to CEO to mayor, until Mom gave him a wave of her hand and a _“Go play, Timothy”_. 

Tim wandered the floor for a while, avoiding expensive shoes and satin skirts. Fortunately, no one tried to talk to him. He didn’t think he could get a word out if he tried, not right now. 

Everything was so _loud_ . Were people yelling? Why were they talking so loudly? Tim slapped his hands over his ears, but it wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes to block out the bright light, but that just made him bump into a lady with a purple dress. He stumbled backwards, apologising profusely, then turned on his heels and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, his vision was blurry and his cheeks were wet and he was so _tired_. 

Somehow, he found an empty hallway. As soon as the noises had quieted down a little, his legs gave out underneath him and he sank to his knees. He shuffled backwards until he hit the wall and drew his legs up to his chest to embrace them. 

_Why couldn’t he stop crying?_

Footsteps drew closer. Muffled thuds on the thick carpet. Tim didn’t hear. His hands were clamped over his ears and he was biting his lip to keep from sobbing. 

Someone kneeled down in front of him. Gentle eyes in a kind face. He said something. Tim didn’t hear. Everything was fuzzy and his head hurt. He knew he should listen, should reply, but he was tired and in pain and he _couldn’t do it._

He weakly hit his head a few times with a small fist. The person made a noise, something Tim couldn't decipher, but it sounded a little like that wounded puppy he'd found in the streets once. He'd tried to bring it home, but Dad had caught him and made him put it back, said it was dirty and full of diseases. It had been so small. He hoped that puppy was okay. 

Something was touching him. His wrist. Something was touching his wrist and it _hurt_. 

Tim tried to snag his hand away, but the touch was stronger. He whimpered weakly. 

"Shh, it's okay. Please stop hitting yourself,” Someone said, Tim didn't know who, didn't know where he was, what was going on. The touch disappeared; his hand was free! 

Before Tim could curl it into a fist again, something was pressed into his palm. It was red and cube shaped, and when Tim poked a finger at it, a small button depressed. He made a curious noise and let go. The button popped out again. Tim kept pressing and letting go as if in a trance, completely forgetting about hitting himself. 

Then, the person-shape disappeared. Tim wanted to cry out — _don’t leave me alone!_ — but the words got stuck in his throat, like they were gripping his insides and refusing to let go, leaving him gasping for air. 

Tim rocked back and forth, the motion soothing something in his chest. At the same time, he started humming, a soft noise that vibrated through his chest. He freed his hand from clutching his knees and snapped his fingers, once, twice, three times, and lost count. 

Suddenly, the kind-eyed man was back. He was carrying a big rectangular piece of fabric. A blanket, that was the word. The man draped it over Tim’s shoulders and Tim nearly purred in delight. It was heavy and put pressure on his body in the _best _way. Tim clutched a corner of the blanket in his fist and rubbed his thumb over it in circles, loose threads snagging on his bitten nails.__

____

The shape-person-man had sat down, he thought. Things still looked a little blurry and Tim's head was faaar away, so he wasn't completely sure. The dark blob was comforting, though. It stayed blessedly quiet, so Tim just sat and rid it out. 

__

After who knew how long, Tim's head cleared up. His thoughts were still slow and simplified, but he could make out the man in front of him now. 

__

It was Bruce fucking Wayne. 

__

"That's me, yes,” Bruce Wayne said. 

__

Shit, had he said that out loud? 

__

Mr. Wayne chuckled softly. "You did.” 

__

_Fuck._

__

"Don't worry about it, son. I'm just glad you seem to be feeling better.” Mr. Wayne offered a kind smile. “Do you want to stay here for a while?” 

__

Tim probably should go back to the party... But he really didn't want to. His head still hurt and he didn't want to be around all that noise. 

__

He nodded. 

__

"Do you want me to go?” 

__

Tim shook his head wildly. He didn't want him to leave, he didn't want to be alone. 

__

“Alright.” 

__

Mr. Wayne tucked his legs underneath him, criss-cross applesauce, digging his phone out of his pocket. He turned it on, thankfully on the lowest brightness setting, and started doing... whatever CEOs did. 

__

Tim curled up underneath the blanket and fidgeted with the cube absentmindedly for a while, occasionally glancing over at Mr. Wayne. Finally, he gathered the courage to speak up. “What are you doing?” 

__

Mr. Wayne looked up and Tim flinched. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he thought. But no, Mr. Wayne smiled, _again_ , and replied easily. 

__

“I’m texting my son, Dick. He’s on a camping trip with friends right now.” 

__

“That sounds fun,” Tim mused. “I’ve never gone camping.” 

__

“No?” 

__

Tim shook his head. “No. Dad says it’s gross and dirty, and Mom says it’s a waste of time.” 

__

A muscle in Mr. Wayne’s face twitched. Tim didn’t know what that meant. 

__

“Well... maybe you’d like to go with me and Dick sometime? We used to go all the time when he was younger. I’m sure he’d love that.” 

__

“Really?” 

__

“Really.” 

__

“I think I'd like that too,” Tim shared shyly. “I like nature photography.” 

__

“Oh?” Bruce inquired, clearly asking for elaboration. 

__

“Yeah,” Tim nodded enthusiastically. “And urban photography. We had to take pictures for a school assignment last year, so my dad gave me an old camera and I liked it a lot so I kept doing it, and... I'm rambling, aren't I?” 

__

"Maybe a little,” Mr. Wayne admitted. "But I don't mind. Go on. I'm enjoying listening.” 

__

“Oh.” There was a warm flush in Tim's chest. “Okay. Well, last week, I got this _awesome_ shot-” 

__

Tim talked and talked. Mr. Wayne _listened_. He didn't tell Tim to be quiet once, just nodded and gestured for him to keep going whenever Tim hesitated and fell silent. He even chimed in himself a few times. Tim hadn't expected Bruce Wayne to have photography knowledge, but it was a pleasant surprise. 

__

At one point, Tim had started flapping his hands. He quickly sat on them when he realised, but at Mr. Wayne's encouraging “go ahead”, he tentatively started it up again. Mr. Wayne didn't seem to mind, so Tim didn't stop his hands again. 

__

“And _then_ the squirrel tried to grab my camera and-” Tim yawned, interrupting his own sentence. “And... and...” 

__

Mr. Wayne chuckled. "It looks like it might be time for you to get back to your parents and go to bed, huh?” 

__

“Mm, ye- _Oh_ , I never told you my name!” Tim gasped. “I'm so sorry!” 

__

Mr. Wayne waved him off. “It's fine, you had different priorities.” 

__

“I'm Tim. Timothy. Timothy Jackson Drake.” 

__

"Which do you prefer?” 

__

Tim cocked his head to the side. "Huh?” 

__

"Would you rather I call you Tim or Timothy?” Mr. Wayne asked. 

__

Tim's eyebrows pinched as he thought hard and deep. Mr. Wayne was so confusing. “Oh, um. Tim, I guess.” 

__

“It's nice to meet you, Tim.” Mr. Wayne smiled. “I'm Bruce.” 

__

“I know,” Tim blurted out, immediately throwing his hands over his mouth. “I mean- oops.” 

__

Mr. Wayne threw his head back and laughed. The sound made something warm unfurl in Tim's chest. “You remind me of my son,” Mr. Wayne said after he'd contained his laughter. “He doesn't always think before he speaks, though when he does, he's calculating and quick. He keeps me on my toes.” Rich fondness shone through his voice. 

__

“Sounds like you love him a lot,” Tim commented. 

__

Mr. Wayne's radiant smile, small, but so full of warmth and light and happiness, now turned to him. “I do. I'm his dad, how could I not?” 

__

_Huh._

__

_Interesting._

__

Tim yawned again, rubbing at his eyes. 

__

“You seem tired, bud. Are you feeling better now?” Mr. Wayne asked. 

__

Tim rubbed his thumb over the heavy blanket he was still underneath. “Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Wayne.” 

__

“You’re very welcome. Are you up to going back in? I’m sure your parents are looking for you.” 

__

_Probably not,_ Tim thought, but kept that to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s go.” He shot a glance at Mr. Wayne. “Unless you have to go somewhere else?” 

__

Mr. Wayne shook his head. “I’d be happy to escort you until you’re back safe with your parents.” 

__

Tim nodded tightly once, and averted his gaze. He tried to stand up, but his legs were like jelly and he nearly fell. Thankfully, Mr. Wayne caught him before that could happen. 

__

“Are you okay?” Mr. Wayne said, supporting Tim until he was standing steady. 

__

Tim, face flushed, answered with a nod again. 

__

“You ready?” 

__

Tim nodded a third time and Mr. Wayne started making his way back to the main room of the gala, Tim on his heels. 

__

Just before they entered through the door, Tim remembered something and tugged at Mr. Wayne’s sleeve. “Oh, uh, Mr. Wayne?” He held out the cube. "Here.” 

__

Mr. Wayne smiled and shook his head. "Keep it.” 

__

"Really?” Tim’s eyes were big as dinnerplates. 

__

"Yes, really. It’s yours now.” 

__

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” 

__

“It's nothing, ch- Tim.” Tiny wrinkles appeared between Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows, for just a moment. “And please, call me Bruce.” 

__

“Um. Okay, Mr. Bruce.” 

__

Bruce laughed, a soft sound, but one full of mirth. "We'll work on it.” 

__

They entered the room. Tim was braced for a cacophony of noise, but it was nearly deserted; most guests having left a while ago. It was quiet. 

__

Tim spotted his parents in the corner and made his way over, Mr. Way- _Bruce_ close behind. 

__

"Timothy, there you are!” Mom exclaimed. "Don't wander off like that, we wanted to leave twenty minutes ago.” 

__

Tim just nodded, his throat closing up again. 

__

“I'll get our coats,” Dad said, and walked away. 

__

Mom finally noticed Bruce, and a tight smile appeared on her face. “Oh, Mr. Wayne, hello. I trust you have had a pleasant evening?" 

__

“Mrs. Drake, hi,” Bruce smiled a tad too tightly, his eyes dark and cold. “My night was wonderful, thank you. Tim is a pleasant conversationalist.” 

__

Mom turned to Tim, glaring under the mask of makeup. “Is that where you were? Bothering Mr. Wayne?” Tim nodded again, and Mom looked back to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience. It won't happen again.” Mom snagged Tim's wrist and pulled him away from Bruce. "Come on, Timothy, apologise.” 

__

"S-sorry,” Tim just barely managed to stumble out. 

__

Bruce smiled, his eyebrows pinched slightly. “It's quite alright, Tim. No need to say sorry. I didn't mind at all.” 

__

“Oh... okay.” 

__

Dad appeared with their coats. Mom brusquely put Tim's on him and the Drakes started walking away. Tim looked back for a moment, catching Bruce with a frown on his face, though his smile returned as soon as he saw Tim looking. He offered Tim a wave. Tim returned it, a smile of his own tugging at his lips for just a moment, before he was whisked out the door, into the cold of the night. 

__

* * *

__

_A few years later_

__

Bruce had told him about the gala five weeks ago. And then again one week ago. And _again_ yesterday. Tim had known it was coming. 

__

_Just get over yourself_ , he told himself. It was fine. He was fine. A little fatigue wouldn’t stop Robin. 

__

(It wouldn’t stop Timothy Jackson Drake either.) 

__

Yeah. Yeah, okay. He could do this. 

__

Tim stood up from his bed and walked to the closet. Or, that was what he was trying to do. His body didn’t seem to obey his brain anymore. 

__

_Get up. Get your_ _(uncomfortable, tight, choking)_ _suit. Just do it._

__

Tim didn’t move. 

__

A knock on the door. Tim let out a noise. The door opened. Bruce. 

__

“Are you ready?” Bruce asked. 

__

Tim burst into tears. 

__

Bruce was kneeling in front of him in an instant, hands awkwardly hovering above Tim’s arms, not touching just yet. 

__

“Shit, sorry,” Tim brought out between hiccups. “I’m fine, it’s fine, just give me a moment.” 

__

“I don’t think you’re fine, Tim,” Bruce said, voice so gentle Tim would’ve cried if he hadn't already been doing that. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or do you just want to sit for a bit?” 

__

Tim scrubbed at his eyes. It didn’t do much against the steady stream of tears, but he did manage to take a deep breath and somewhat still his sobs. “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit tired, but it’s fine. I can come to the gala, don’t worry.” 

__

Bruce frowned, and _shit, had Tim said the wrong thing?_ He wracked his brain but couldn’t find anything that could have warranted a reaction like that. 

__

“Tim, you don’t have to go," Bruce said, his voice still soft and friendly and gentle, and _why was he being so nice still?_ Why was he not getting angry? Yelling? Telling him to hurry up and get dressed? 

__

Tim didn’t _understand_. 

__

He voiced his thoughts. Bruce’s eyebrows did a thing again, and his eyes, and Tim didn’t understand why he looked so _sad_. 

__

“Your wellbeing is more important than any gala, Tim. If you can’t go, you don’t have to, no questions asked.” 

__

Tim blinked. “My wellbeing? I’m fine?” 

__

Bruce chuckled humourlessly. “Tim, you’re crying.” 

__

“...yes? And?” 

__

“Sweetheart, you’re not fine, and that’s okay. I can help make you feel better again. I won’t force you to do things you don’t want to do.” 

__

“Unless it’s going to bed on time,” Tim pointed out, grinning despite his wet cheeks. 

__

“Unless it’s going to bed on time,” Bruce agreed. “Can I touch you?” 

__

“Sure,” Tim said automatically. 

__

“Tim,” Bruce said. “I need you to actually think about it. Are you okay with me touching you, or would you rather not right now?” 

__

Tim was momentarily thrown off, but did what Bruce said. “No, I’m... I'm sure. Yes. You can.” 

__

Bruce reached out and wiped the tears from Tim’s cheek with his thumb. Tim leaned into the touch, and Bruce surprised him by tugging him into a hug. Tim tensed up for a second but soon relaxed into Bruce’s hold. It felt... safe. Warm and steady and comfortable and _safe_. 

__

Tim thought he wouldn't mind staying here, in Bruce's — _his dad's_ — arms, forever. 

__

Unfortunately, Tim being the stupid, moment ruining dumbass he is, _had to_ ask. 

__

“You’re really not making me go to the gala?” He whispered into Bruce’s sweater. 

__

Bruce paused rubbing slow circles on Tim’s back for a moment before picking up again. “Of course not, Tim. Like I said, your wellbeing is the priority. Everything else comes second. Besides, I hate those things too. If I have to listen to Mrs. Tisseling talk about exotic fish _one more time-_ Well. I might just have to break my one rule.” 

__

Tim chuckled wetly, pulling away. “We wouldn’t want that.” Tears spilled again and he scrubbed at his eyes furiously. “Shit, sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m fine, it’s fine.” 

__

“Tim,” Bruce said, insistent but gentle. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s okay to cry, you’re allowed to. Let it all out. You’ve had to go past your limits and boundaries all your life, so now that someone is finally looking out for you, you don’t understand. It’s okay. You can let go now. I’ll be here to catch you.” 

__

Bruce opened his arms. 

__

Tim let go. 

__

He threw himself at Bruce, slamming into him so hard he would have fallen over, were he not Batman. 

__

Wails wracked through Tim's body, sobs like silent earthquakes making his shoulders and soul tremor. Tears flowed freely, and he already felt so much lighter, like waterfalls of dirt and misery had left him, leaving clear waters behind. 

__

Bruce held him through it. Just like promised. Bruce held him as he cried out all his pain and tears. He didn’t say a word, all he did was _be there_ , and hold Tim close to protect him from all the thorns in a world of deceptive roses. 

__

Tim cried until he felt empty. It was a different empty than the void where feelings used to be, a different empty than the learned apathy when his parents had broken yet another promise. A different empty than the purposeful blurring of his mind when the world got to be too much. 

__

No, this was a kind of empty he welcomed with open arms, a mirror of Bruce's warm embrace. 

__

This was empty like a silent city covered in a coat of snow, the sun turning the water crystals into a blanket of shimmers. 

__

This was empty like a quiet patrol, the sky clear off smog for once, so the stars could cast their warm rays down on the world below, the air so cold breath left a visible stain on it for just a moment. 

__

This was empty like coming home from a long vacation, the house that was void of people for so long now filling up again, laughter and shouts settling into their familiar patterns in the wood. 

__

This emptiness was light and it was freeing. Tim had shed weight from his shoulders, weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying because it had been there all his life. He hadn't realised how heavy he was, how big his chains were, until he was freed from them. 

__

He was _free_. 

__

Tim looked up at Bruce — at his mentor, at Batman, at all the words Tim was scared to say but felt so furiously in his heart all the same. 

__

_"Thank you.”_

__

The words were broken and cracked and just a little desperate, but that was okay. Tim was too. 

__

Bruce cupped Tim's cheek with a large hand, eyes dark and sparkling, and he said, “Of course, Tim. Always.” He pressed a kiss to Tim's forehead, a small gesture, but it meant _everything_. He pulled back, a single tear sliding down his cheek, and smiled. “Always.” 

__

Tim closed his eyes and let himself fall forward, trusting Bruce to catch him — and he did. He laid there in Bruce's arms, exhausted but content. He snapped his fingers once, then rubbed his thumb over the side of his index finger. He opened one eye and reached for his nightstand, but fell short. He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. 

__

"Do you need anything, sweetheart?” Bruce whispered. 

__

Tim made an affirmative sound. “First drawer. Fidget cube.” 

__

Bruce opened said drawer and retrieved the object of want. It was a familiar red. 

__

“You kept it?” Bruce's voice was thick with emotion. 

__

Tim accepted the cube and immediately started playing with it. “Of course. It was the first gift my... my dad gave me.” 

__

Bruce stilled and Tim feared he'd said the wrong thing, but then Bruce scooted farther back on the bed, tugging Tim with him. Tim landed with his head on Bruce's chest, his heartbeat steady and strong and comforting underneath his ear. Bruce tapped on Tim's wrist in a familiar pattern. Tim tapped back. 

__

_I love you._

__

Tim made himself comfortable on Bruce's chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on Bruce's sleeve. Bruce pulled the covers over them, tucking Tim in until he was warm. 

__

“What about the gala?” Tim asked. He didn’t want Bruce to stay away from an important event just for him. 

__

Bruce kissed his temple. “I’ll ask Alfred to announce that my son is sick and I need to care for him.” 

__

“Your...” Tim’s voice wavered. “Your son?” 

__

“Yes,” Bruce said, carding his fingers through Tim's hair. “My son.” 

__

Tim closed his eyes and slept, filled with warmth. 

__

(Turns out, a little fatigue did stop Tim Wayne.) 

__

(He was okay with that.) 

__

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like it's important to mention that 1. some paragraphs were written on paper during my latin class. 2. a huge chunk of this was written in comic sans. Idk what this says about me but. 
> 
> also, this was originally going to be set during the time in which Dick is not talking to Bruce, so B nearly calling Tim chum... ouch
> 
> by the way, bruce carries stim toys around both for himself (autistic) and Dick (adhd)
> 
> my dc blog: autistic-damian-wayne  
> my art blog (lots of batfam): ghost-faerie-art


End file.
